Honestly?
by So Much Tea
Summary: Set during Season 3. If Emma and Killian never went through that time portal, but came together a different way. Thanks to the unrelenting stress of being Storybrooke's Saviour, Emma is suffering from headaches. Regina slips Emma a potion which is supposed to cure them. Only now Emma keeps spilling all her secrets and she's not sure why. Captain Swan.


**Honestly?**

* * *

 **Originally I wrote this as a secret santa gift but it was just so rushed and I didn't do it justice. So I thought I'd do it again but... better. It's a bit crack-y, a bit angst-y (hopefully) a lotta funny. I really really hope you enjoy reading it because I really loved writing it. It's over 10,000 words so it's a lil bit of a passion project and it was definitely fun! Let me know what you think!**

* * *

It's cold. So cold that even with two jumpers, a scarf, a coat, tights and jeans, she still feels like an ice block. Her fingertips, though covered in gloves, tingle painfully beneath the material. She knows that if she were to remove them, they'd probably be red raw.

She's in desperate need of thawing out, but she doesn't move. Instead, she stands at the docks, watching the ships rock against the icy blue waves, their masts swaying in the wind. She tucks her hair behind her ear, numbly, clumsily, as she stares. It's cold enough to make her lose feeling in her toes but she doesn't mind—she likes the cold. It clears her head; here, she can think.

For the past few weeks, she has hardly been able to breathe, let alone think. At least she's had Zelena to keep her busy, but now that the witch is defeated, she is out of distractions. And time, it seems. She thought she'd be able to hold off on Henry's memories for a while, so they could escape to New York and he'd be none the wiser. As they say, ignorance is bliss. But not everything goes to plan and cucumber-coloured witches get in the way.

Not to mention that pesky human emotion called… well, that's the thing. She doesn't exactly have a name for it. But she knows that she's feeling it as she stands by the docks, feeling the gentle tug of the wind, the scent of salt wafting around her. It's the feeling that brings her out here almost every morning, waiting for _him_.

Sure enough, he comes, as she knows he always will.

And, with a tug of the heart, she scurries off to the nearest boat. It's a short and stunted thing, with a grey stripe cutting through the white paintwork. It hardly covers her so she has to crouch down, as she always does, amidst the dirt and the sand and a few pebbles. She braces one hand against the boat, the other on the ground, feeling the lump of pebbles under her flat palm. They dig into her hand, but she hardly notices—she's too preoccupied with the sight that meets her eyes.

Hook makes his way along the docks, and she can only _just_ hear the crunch of his boots against the sandy wood. He always looks taller from far away, and thin, but broad-shouldered. He comes to a stop where she had been mere seconds ago. He stills, but his coat moves in the wind, rippling leather waves that coincide with the movement of the sea. He drags a hand through his hair as he looks out into the water. It sticks up in all directions, but he doesn't seem to notice. He seems lost in his thoughts, as he always does, and Emma wonders what he's thinking about. One mad, foolish part of her hopes— _wonders_ —if it's about her.

She colours almost immediately at the thought, but in anger more than anything. It's stupid to think such things, especially when she knows that she shouldn't—she can't— _feel_ anything for him. Not when she and Henry will be on their way back to New York if all goes to plan. She can't have anything keeping her here.

 _Stupid,_ she thinks. He's already keeping her here. She could have set off days ago with Henry—Zelena has been gone a few weeks, her time portal, destroyed—but she stays. And, instead of packing or saying her goodbyes like normal people, Emma spends her time crouched in mud and dirt, watching the pirate from afar. She can only imagine the shame if she were to be caught. He would find her, and she'd never hear the end of it. He'd probably use it as leverage for her to stay—"But Emma, love, you _must_ feel _something_ for me if you're willing to watch me like this."

 _Watch him?_ More like stalk him.

Because that's what it is. Stalking. Pure, unadulterated stalking.

But _god,_ she likes to watch him. His feelings for her are no secret. He has made it perfectly clear that she could have him if she so desired. But it's not about desire and it took her a long, long time to realise that; it's about love. He loves her. It's the reason Zelena cursed his lips; it's the reason he returned to New York in the first place.

For her.

No, his feelings are no secret. Hers, on the other hand...

Oh but _how_ could she make her feelings known, when she's supposed to be leaving this life behind. How can she admit that she thinks about him all the time, or that he makes her laugh and he makes her stomach flip in that delicious way worthy of a romance novel? How can she admit that his eyes are that perfect shade of blue, almost like the sea, as cliche as it sounds? Or that she hasn't thought of making a home with someone since Neal but now, suddenly, for some time, she's been wondering if his hair sticks up that way in the mornings, or what his voice sounds like just before he sleeps. How can she admit this—any of this—when it will all be gone before her eyes?

 _He could come with us…_ She's thinking the words before she can stop herself.

 _No._

She can't have anything tying her to this life. Not him, not anyone. He would convince her to return to Storybrooke to be with her family, and she can't have that. She just _can't._

He might not even come with her. He might love her but he is a pirate; settling down might not be his thing. He might not want to make a home. If there's something she's realised in all her years, it's that two people can love each other, but if they want different things...

She has to stop thinking like this. She has to stop imagining false scenarios that will never happen, as much as she wants them to. And more importantly, she has to stop crouching in the dirt, making eyes at a man she'll never have.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, she rises, brushing sand and pebbles from the knees of her jeans. He doesn't notice. He's still watching the sea, deep in thought, as frozen as a statue. With a heavy heart and one last longing look thrown in his direction, she leaves.

* * *

Her headache becomes worse throughout the day and by the evening, it's unbearable. Despite the amount of painkillers she's taken, the amount of water she drinks and the amount of caffeine she's avoided, it doesn't let up. That's how she finds herself in Granny's diner, curled up in a booth.

A stale glass of water rests in front of her, untouched. The diner is almost completely empty, bar a few dwarves and Granny stalking about. She can _feel_ the occasional look Granny throws at her, concerned, almost grandmotherly, but Emma doesn't say anything. She can hardly think over the _poundpoundpound_ of her head. She thought she'd feel better here, in the dark of Granny's diner, away from the cramped loft, but she feels the same.

She leans her head back against the leather booth. Bad mistake. The position puts her in sight of the lights, which are bright yellow, harsher than normal. She groans and closes her eyes, hoping to block out the violation of the lights, but it does little to help. There is still a sharp stinging behind her lids and a thumping in the front of her head.

Three arrests. Despite her headache, she'd made three arrests today, which leaves her to wonder why can't the citizens of Storybrooke just leave it alone for a while. Why must there always be something bad, some unknown threat lurking just around the corner? _That_ , right there, is exactly why she needs to scoop Henry up and leave this place. A peaceful life sounds nice right about now and the New York lights sound like heaven.

"You alright there, Swan?"

Her stomach flips automatically at the sound, a completely unwelcome reaction. She groans and opens one of her eyes. Hook stands just above her booth, clad in his black leather. He watches her through concerned eyes, his forehead puckering like it does when he's trying to work her out. _Take your eyes off me,_ she wants to snap at him. She can't stand the kindness in them. Not when she knows that soon they won't look at her again.

"Never been better." She closes her eyes again, hoping to block him out. If she pretends he's not here, he'll disappear. That's how it works, right?

She hears the squeak of leather on leather as he slides into the booth opposite her. She can still feel him looking at her, with those kicked-puppy eyes. That seems to be his permanent expression, ever since he brought her back to Storybrooke. It's been almost impossible to coax a smile out of him within these past few weeks. She hadn't realised how much she missed his witty, quick-tongued nature until it had disappeared.

"Your parents are worried about you." His voice sounds closer, almost as if he's right beside her, and it takes all of her willpower not to open her eyes.

"Are they?" She doesn't mean it to come out so sarcastic. Really, she doesn't.

There's another squeak as he shifts. "They think you're being distant with them."

"And let me guess. They sent you to figure out why." But even as the words leave her lips, she doesn't _quite_ believe them. David might have sent Hook with Emma to defeat Zelena, but they were far from friends. The idea of her parents confiding in Hook is almost laughable.

"No, they didn't send me." There's a silence. "Every time you're in the same room as them, they exchange looks with each other. Your mother looks at you like you're wounded."

Emma's eyes snap open. The lights blind her for just a second. "I'm not wounded," she says a little too quickly.

"Then—forgive me—but why are you acting like it?"

"I'm not."

"You are. It's like you're hiding something from them. Are you?"

She clenches her teeth. A sharp pain cuts across her temples. "Am I what?"

"Hiding something from them. Are you hiding something from me?" And then, all too fast, his voice drops. His voice comes soft, like he intends to coax the truth out of her. "I know it's been a difficult few weeks, but the Wicked Witch is gone now. You defeated her _and_ you defeated her time portal—"

"Hook," Emma warns. "Just. Drop it."

"I don't understand why you're being so distant with them, with…" He averts his eyes but the unspoken words hang between them. _With me._

She sits up in the booth and sighs. He won't drop it; she knows he won't. She looks down at her hands as she speaks. "I've just been suffering from... headaches."

He quirks an eyebrow. "For the past few weeks?"

"For… a while."

The eyebrow drops and suddenly his eyes are concerned again, his expression melting into worry. She can't help but think how much softer he looks when he's concerned. For a pirate, that is. She remembers how she first met him. How he always seemed harsh and frayed around the edges. Hidden beneath a persona of hate.

"I've had my fair share of headaches, love. Do you know what's causing them?"

She continues to look down at her hands, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess I've been worrying, waiting for the next evil villain to turn up. Be that a twelve-year-old boy with some _serious_ identity issues, a walking avocado or a... one handed pirate." She peeks up at him and they share a smile that sends a spark to her stomach before she turns back to her hands. "I don't know. Or maybe it's just planning for…" She chooses her words carefully. "New beginnings."

"New beginnings?"

"Yeah."

His brow furrows. "Now that the Wicked Witch has gone?" His face turns from confused to hard in a matter of seconds and his expression is like a knife in the gut. "You're still planning to leave for New York."

She doesn't say anything but that's enough to convince him.

"Still?" he asks.

There's no point in lying. She just nods.

"Why _?_ "

 _Why?_ She hadn't expected that question. She thought she had explained her reasoning when they were sat on the park bench together, when he shoved that storybook in her face, demanding answers.

"I haven't found what I'm looking for yet." She throws her hair over her shoulder and the movement sends her head spinning. She rubs at her temples, trying to ease some of the pressure. The conversation with Hook only makes it worse.

He moves forward in his seat, leather squeaking, lowering his voice to a hiss. "Do you mean to tell me that despite having your family here, your friends, that you _still_ don't believe you're home?"

"I told you," she hisses back. "Henry is the only family I need."

"Are you really so _blinded_ as to—" He shakes his head furiously, hissing in a breath. When he speaks again, his words are laced with forced calmness. He keeps his eyes steady on hers. "Do you not believe anyone cares for you in this town?"

"Of _course_ I do." She knows her parents love her. Every time she thinks about leaving, she can see their stricken faces. "That's what makes this so hard."

"You, of all people, know how it feels to be abandoned."

She almost laughs. "That's completely different."

"Is it?"

He watches her with maddening sincerity. She can see that muscle jumping in his jaw and she finds herself wishing that he wouldn't argue with her, not when they only have a few days left together. If only he'd smile.

"For some reason," he begins, his eyes flashing with every word, "you're convinced that you need to keep running in order to be happy. You've managed to convince yourself that you _can_ just leave all of this behind without a care in the world. You'll break their hearts." He stands, so abruptly it makes her flinch. "But what you don't realise is that in doing so, you'll break your own."

He strides out the diner with alarming speed, the door slamming behind him.

* * *

She only remains in the diner a few more minutes before the weight of Hook's words catch up with her and she's trying not to cry. She wouldn't say she's normally a tearful person, but something about his words hit close to home for her. Either that or the pain has become too much to bear. Maybe a bit of both.

On her way up to her parents' apartment, she has to drag herself up the stairs. Every movement feels like a chore. Every step feels like a marathon. It must be the worry of leaving, or the pain of staying, or maybe both, that's causing the headaches.

When she finally makes her way inside, she's surprised to see the whole parade there. Her parents, Henry, and Regina. They're in the midst of chatting when she walks in. Mary Margaret and Henry hold steaming mugs of tea in their hands but going by the tumbler in Regina's, Emma assumes she's opted for something stronger. David cradles her baby brother in his arms, stroking his cheek with a gentle finger.

It's at that moment that Emma notices that Regina stirs the tumbler with her free hand, and there's a plant-like smell coming from it, something Emma can't place.

Emma frowns at it. "What's that?"

"A potion I whipped up," she says, still stirring. Her nails are painted a bright red. They look even brighter against the black, tar-coloured liquid in the glass.

"Right."

Emma crosses the room in one swift motion, her boots clunking heavily against the wooden floor. Only when she's collapsed onto the chair, does she notice that no-one has moved. It's eerie the way they stand around her, Regina slowly stirring that thick, awful looking liquid, everyone else watching her with unblinking eyes, like a pack of wolves.

"It's for you," Regina tells her when no-one speaks.

"What?"

"The potion. It's for you."

Emma sits up in her chair. "What do you mean, it's for me?"

This time, it's Mary Margaret who speaks, her voice softer. "We know you've been having a lot of headaches recently…"

She's trying to be gentle, almost cautious with her words, but it just comes out as patronising and a surge of anger runs through Emma. It's uncalled for, really, when she knows they're just trying to help. "And you just thought you'd tell other people my business, did you?"

"No, actually," comes Henry's voice. "I did. I thought you could use some help."

When she looks at Henry, her expression softens. Her voice is gentler when she says, "Kid…"

"Do you want it or not?" comes Regina's brisk tone. She shoots a glance at the clock. "I haven't got all day. And it'll help, I promise."

Emma opens her mouth to say no, but she catches a glimpse of Henry's expression. A sigh escapes her. If anything, it'll make her kid happy. And if it'll get rid of her headaches… It's just like taking aspirin, right?

"Okay, fine. I'll have it."

Regina passes the tar-coloured liquid. Emma's disgusted to find that it's warm—not hot, but that horrible lukewarm. Nose wrinkled, she takes a quick sniff. It smells like freshly mown grass. As much as Emma loves that smell, it's not something she'd want to drink. She shakes the glass and the liquid sloshes, bubbles forming in the top. It makes her stomach turn.

"It'll do you good," says Mary Margaret. She's watching her with a sickeningly-warm smile. "When I was pregnant with you, I had the most awful headaches. Blue fixed this up for me. They went away in a heartbeat."

 _Here goes it,_ she thinks. And then she pinches her nose and swallows half of the liquid in one go. It tastes awful, like grass, but also like cardboard. She keeps going until it's all gone.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" asks Regina but before Emma answers, she strides over to the sink and downs a glass of water. It doesn't take all the taste away, but it gets the majority of it.

She turns her gaze on Regina. "And my headaches will go now?"

"Yes. Most definitely." Another quick look at the clock. "Anyway, I have to go. I have to give Grumpy a truth serum."

"A truth serum?" Mary Margaret's voice is sharp. Her head snaps towards Regina, eyebrows raised.

"This truth serum." Regina pulls a little bottle from her pocket, no taller than her index finger. The liquid is black, almost exactly the same as the potion Emma swallowed. "Someone has been breaking into my office to steal a few of my spell books. I'm sure it's Grumpy and his army of baby-sized hairy morons."

"They're dwarves, Regina."

"Yes. Well." She wrinkles her nose.

"And I'm sure they're not breaking into your office. Why would the dwarves have any need for spell books? It doesn't make sense."

"That's exactly what I'm going to find out."

"Do you have any proof?" asks Emma. Everyone looks at her in surprise. It's the first time she's joined in a conversation in weeks. She shrugs as if to say 'what?' and folds her arms. "Proof is everything. I would know." She's starting to feel more like herself now. The potion has really taken the edge off in a matter of seconds. She makes a vow to accept Regina's magical solutions in the future.

 _That's if I'm still here,_ she thinks.

"Not exactly," says Regina. Her eyes darken, those red lips pursed in annoyance. "But I found a few hairs on my desk. Clearly not mine. So I threw them in an old identity potion I had lying around and they told me the species wasn't human."

"Could be anyone in this town," mumbles Emma. Everyone's a witch, a werewolf, or a zombie.

Well, maybe not a zombie. But it's only a matter of time before they turn up.

The slight frown on Mary Margaret's face tells Emma she's still not convinced. She moves her fingertips back and forth across her chin in thought. "I'm not sure you should give them a truth serum, though."

"Not _them._ Grumpy. I only need one."

"And I'm sure Grumpy won't take it. You know what he's like."

"Oh, he will. Even if I have to force it down his neck." A slow smile spreads across her face, revealing a perfect set of pearly white teeth. Emma's sure she sees a hint of the Evil Queen, something she hasn't seen in years, though it's gone in a matter of seconds.

"Regina—"

"I'll see you later." With a fond smile directed at Henry, she leaves the room, heels clicking against the floor as she goes, coat swishing behind her.

"She better not hurt them," Mary Margaret hisses as soon as she's gone, hands on hips.

David, who had been watching the whole exchange perfectly silent, presses a cooing Neal into his wife's arms and gently strokes her face. "She won't. And if she finds out it's not Grumpy, it means she'll have to swallow her pride. We both know how much she hates being wrong."

Emma looks away as they share a kiss.

* * *

She decides to have an early night. Though the potion is already working, she longs for sleep. She longs to shut off from the world, from the thoughts that are slowly eating her alive, and the ebbing guilt which never seems to cease. Hopefully when she wakes up tomorrow, the headaches will have gone completely. That way she can start a plan of action.

Operation Take Henry Back to New York.

* * *

Sure enough, her head feels a lot lighter the next day. She walks almost with a skip in her step. Almost. Even though the sky is bright white and threatens snow, she feels like she's ready to face anything. _Let it storm,_ she thinks. _Bring the hail and the snow and the rain._ She'll brave it all.

For the first time in weeks, she doesn't venture down to the docks. There will be no spying on Hook. Not today.

She makes her way into Granny's and orders a coffee and pancakes. Once she's snuggled in a booth, she shrugs her coat off over her shoulders and unloops her scarf. Her fingertips sting in the sudden warmth. When they're back to normal, she pulls a small, square notepad and a pen from her pocket. She scribbles down a heading.

 _Operation Take Henry Back to New York._

She scribbles out 'to New York' and tries again.

 _Operation Take Henry Home._

With a satisfied smile she underlines the title and writes down the first thing that comes to mind.

 _Convince Henry why New York is home._

She sucks on the end of her pen as she thinks. New York is everything that Storybrooke is not. Loud, yet inviting. During the day, it's packed with shoppers of every shape and size, and offers of every food imaginable. She quickly writes, 'Good food' and returns to sucking her pen. After a few more minutes of thinking she's managed to come up with a list.

 _Good food_

 _Good smells_

 _Lots of people_

 _Never boring_

 _Pretty_

 _Good school_

And lastly, though she knows it won't make much difference to Henry:

 _NORMAL._

She longs to be normal. She aches with the feeling. After knowing how good of a normal life she can have, it's hard not to miss it.

She takes a deep sip of her coffee. It's perfect. Just the right amount of sugar and milk and a beautiful blend of coffee. Granny has always made hot drinks to perfection, especially her hot chocolates with the cinnamon and whipped cream.

 _Maybe I'll miss this,_ she thinks, as she picks up her knife and fork, pulling her plate towards her. But when she bites into the bacon she ordered with her pancakes, she almost spits it out. She was so focussed on New York, she hardly noticed they were—

"Burnt!" she all but shouts. "They're burnt."

Granny, who's in the middle of wiping down the counter, whips her head around to Emma. "I'm sorry?"

"The bacon. It's burnt. I can't eat it."

"Do you want me to get you some more bacon?" Granny barks, her tone laced with irritation.

"Yeah, actually." She's surprised by her own assertiveness. Usually she wouldn't say anything, but maybe it's because she knows she won't be around any more. She won't have to deal with Granny's wrath. "Maybe I won't miss this," she adds as an afterthought as Granny scoops up her plate and throws her a dirty look.

The door opens. Emma glances up to see Mary Margaret float into the room, Neal in her arms, David following close behind. Emma quickly slips the notepad and pen back into her pocket just before they spot her. They give her smiles which Emma returns, though it feels forced.

"Emma, how are you?" asks Mary Margaret as she slides into the booth opposite her.

"She seems fine to me," Granny hisses from the other side of the room.

Her parents throw Granny a look but return to Emma, shaking their heads as if to say, 'What was that about?'

"How are your headaches?" Mary Margaret asks.

"I'm fine, thanks," says Emma. With a shock she realises that for the first time, she means it. "My headaches have gone."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Neal is fast asleep in her arms. _He's so beautiful,_ Emma thinks. It reminds her of when Henry was born, but not the memory where she gave him away. The memory where she kept him. She smiles. Mistaking this, Mary Margaret smiles back.

"You do seem a lot better today."

Emma shrugs. "A combination of pain relief and a good sleep."

David slides into the booth next to his wife.

"Hey, Dav—Dad."

"Hey, Emma, how are your headaches?"

"Gone," says Emma with a smile.

"Then you wouldn't mind staying with us for another drink. I ordered three hot chocolates and a stack of pancakes."

"I can't," says Emma at once. Both her parents look at her. "I already ordered pancakes and they were horrible. Anyway, I've got things to do." She doesn't elaborate on the things, nor does she want to. Her plan is hers and hers alone. To her relief, they don't ask her. She wouldn't want to make up a lie on the spot.

"That's a shame," says Mary Margaret. "We were hoping you could help us."

"With what?"

"The dwarves," sighs David. "Grumpy didn't admit anything under the truth serum, but Regina's still convinced it's him—or that he knows. They're scared out of their wits. They've scattered all over town. We're trying to round them up."

"I'm sure you'll find them. You're a good sheriff," says Emma with a smile.

The door opens again. Her eyes fly up and sees Hook walking through, his leather coat swishing behind him. _Oh God_ , she thinks. This is all she needs. After their last conversation, she's not sure she wants to face him. She slinks down in her seat as she watches him saunter towards the counter and lean over to Granny. His leather coat stretches over his back and all down his form. Her eyes linger for a little too long.

"He looks good in leather."

She doesn't even realise what she's said until both her parents are staring at her with slightly confused expressions.

"Who does?" asks Mary Margaret.

"What?"

David casts a glance behind him. "Hook," he hisses. "Please don't tell me you're talking about Hook."

"I am." As soon as the words are out, she claps her hands over her mouth. "I don't know why I said that," she says, muffled, through her hands. And really, she doesn't. She was just thinking the words, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

Mary Margaret fixes her with a 'I knew it' look. It takes Emma a moment to compose herself. She removes her hands from her mouth, takes a deep breath and shakes her head clear. She must not have been thinking right. She didn't mean to slip up like that. It was just a one time thing, wasn't it?

* * *

She realises that it most certainly is _not,_ later when she is in the Sheriff's station with David. Even though she told him she couldn't help him, she decided that she better had. Especially since her days with him are numbered. So here she sits, in the Sheriff's station, mapping out all the different places the dwarves could have gotten to.

There's only so much mapping they both can take before they're bored out of their minds. David pulls out his phone and taps on it. His quiet, breathy chuckling causes Emma to glance up at him.

"What're you laughing at?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"This picture I took. Henry told me it's a selfie. Do you wanna see?"

"Sure."

He passes the phone over to her. David smiles up at her from the picture, which must have been taken from somewhere below his neck. He looks like he has tiny eyes and little hair. Emma fights to make her face normal.

"What do you think?" he asks, nervously.

"You've got a bit of a double chin there," she says, before she can stop herself. Both of their eyes widen in horror. David snatches the phone off her and shoves it into his pocket. Emma, still horrorstruck, tries to explain, "I didn't mean to say that. I really didn't mean to say that."

"You must get your honesty from your mother." There's hurt in his voice.

"It's just the angle," Emma says weakly, but it's no use. The damage has been done. "It's only the angle. Let me show you how to take a proper selfie."

"You've done enough."

He turns away and she's left to wonder what's going on with her.

* * *

She thinks it might be a side effect from the headache potion. She tells herself it'll wear off. But it doesn't. If anything, it gets worse throughout the day. She can't avoid answering a single question. Not a direct question anyway. She manages to find Grumpy. When he asks her if she has better things to be doing than chasing him all day, she tells him she _has_.

"That's really rude," he says. There's hurt in his eyes too. "Why you gotta be so rude?"

"I don't like you all that much to be honest."

It gets worse than that. Instead of simply answering questions, she starts to spill her thoughts and secrets. She stops Belle in the street, desperate to talk to someone, desperate for words to bubble out her mouth. She ends up telling her that she's always wanted to paint her bug black.

"I just think it might look better, y'know. Yellow seems too… bright for me."

"Uhuh," says Belle, wide-eyed and confused.

"I've always felt a little bit dark. Just like I have little bit of darkness in there. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that my parents sent me through a wardrobe."

"That's awful."

"Isn't it?" Emma sighs. "No wonder I have abandonment issues, huh? And I _do_ have abandonment issues, make no mistake. I mean, I can't really fault them for choosing their Kingdom over their daughter. Y'know, because I'm the saviour. And most of the time I'm fine, but sometimes—" She grabs Belle's arm, who had started to inch away. "I feel it. That lil bit of darkness."

"You should probably… uh… speak to someone about that. Maybe a therapist." She gently removes her arm from Emma's grasp, inching away again. "Doctor Hopper's door is always open—"

"Between you and me, Doctor Hopper's a bit shit, isn't he?"

"I, uh… I think I'll go now."

All Emma can do is watch her as she speeds down the road, stricken with horror.

* * *

But that isn't the worst part. The worst part is when she runs into Hook later in the day. David and Emma met Regina in her office, looking for clues on who might be stealing from her stores. Emma is on her hands and knees, just inspecting the skirting board when Hook walks in. She doesn't even know it's him until she hears his voice and there's that flip of her stomach again.

"Found a dwarf on my ship. Anyone willing to tell me what's going on?"

"Regina tried to give Grumpy a truth potion but he had a temper tantrum and now all the dwarves have gone into hiding," says Emma automatically, her eyes scouring the skirting board. She's looking for something, anything that will prove the dwarves were in Regina's office—or _not_ in, so they can end this ridiculous man hunt. "Personally, I think it's a huge waste of time."

"There's no such thing as a peaceful life, is there?" he says.

"Nope," Emma sighs before she could stop herself. "If only, huh." She rises from the floor, brushing her knees. She turns to Regina. "Nothing down there. What spellbooks have gone missing again?"

"I have a list."

"Alright. Maybe I should go to the dwarves houses. Have a look inside and see if I can find your spellbooks."

"Okay," says David, breezily. She looks at him but he looks away. He must be still annoyed. "But you shouldn't go alone. Take Hook with you."

Emma gives him a look that screams 'I do not want to take Hook with me', but David ignores it. He's got his hero face on. And Emma knows not to argue with him when he's got his hero face on. It doesn't stop her from sighing and rolling her eyes.

This doesn't deter Hook, though. He grins. "Despite your misgivings, I'd say that you rather enjoy my company."

"Yeah, I do," she says. _God's sake_ , she thinks, closing her eyes.

Hook's grin, if possible, gets even wider. He takes a step towards her, practically bouncing. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," she tries to shrug it off. "You always have my back." It's the safest thing to say.

"But you better be careful, Hook," David says. "Emma is being strangely honest today. Almost _hurtfully_ honest. Don't show her any selfies. She'll criticise them."

"Dad," Emma sighs. "I'm sorry. Honestly, it was the angle." She turns to Regina and mumbles. "It was the angle. _God._ It's not like he's ugly. He uses too much product to be ugly."

"What's a selfie?" Hook asks.

Usually Emma would just ignore the question, let someone else answer it, but she's unable to stop herself from explaining. "It's a picture you take of yourself, usually on a phone, facing the camera. It's better to take them from high up, but you could probably take them from any angle because _God,_ you're photogenic."

There's a pause. Silence. A snigger (probably from Regina.) And then:

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you're—it means—" She's trying to stop the words. She can feel them in her head, on the tip of her tongue. _Delicious. Attractive. Gorgeous._ "I-it means—" _Gorgeous._ "It means you're—" _Gorgeous._ "Gorgeous."

But, to her utter relief, her words are drowned out by David, who says, almost accusingly, "I'm more photogenic than you are."

"As I don't know what it means, I'll let you have that one."

"Anyway," says David, returning to the group, hero face intact. "Regina and I will keep snooping around here. After, I'll return to the station. In the meantime, like I said Emma, you and Hook can go and find the dwarves.

"Idon'twanttogowithHook," she rushes out.

"You don't?" Hook asks. Emma shakes her head. She can hear the hurt behind his voice, though he tries to make his tone teasing. "In that case, I'll take my leave. I know where I'm not wanted." He begins to make his way out the room and Emma begins to relax, her shoulders sagging, letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

But then David ruins it all.

"Hook, get back in here. Emma, stop being such a child. As much as I hate to say it, we need him. His skills, that is." He flashes a rare smile in the pirate's direction.

Emma shakes her head.

David groans. "Come on, Emma. Why not?"

"Because I'm scared." Again, those words tumble out of her mouth. She doesn't have any control. "Actually, I'm terrified."

David frowns. "Of Hook?"

She shakes her head.

David huffs out a sigh. " _God's sake, Emma._ "

"I'm scared of what I'll say around him."

"Emma, that doesn't make any sense."

Hook laughs, trying to diffuse the tension, but she can see the hurt in his eyes and the alarm spreading across his face. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

But then she feels the words forming in her brain. They bubble at the surface, dancing on the tip of her tongue. She's trying with all her strength to stop it. She clamps her mouth shut and holds her breath, but the moment she decides to start breathing again, she looks right at Hook—

"It's just that I—how did you put it—quite fancy you from time to time."

David splutters, Regina gives a shocked laugh and Hook's eyes widen to saucers. She tears her gaze away from all of them, burying her head in her hands. She can feel the colour creeping up her neck. God, she wants to _die._

"Really?" They all say at the same time.

She drags her hands away from her face. She has to keep talking; it feels so good to talk, to get it all out. "Yes!" Her eyes widen. It's almost impossible to force out her next words. "I mean, no. _No_. Definitely not." The next ones slip off her tongue without any effort. "That's a lie. Oh my God, you're so attractive."

She half expects Hook to wiggle his eyebrows, to make a teasing quip, but he's just as baffled as everyone else. "I… am?"

She covers her mouth to stop the words from coming, but they don't. "You really, really are. You're so—" She looks up at him. She hadn't realised she'd been inching closer to him, but she had. She comes to a stop in front of him. "Your face, it's so…" She struggles to find the right words. She can feel everyone's eyes on her, especially Hook's, which burn into her. Blush is slowly creeping up his neck. He looks away, embarrassed, but she keeps staring at him, eyes wide, searching for the right word. She reaches out to touch his face. "...Pretty." She strokes her fingertips along the curve of his cheekbones, down, over his lips. He doesn't move, he just keeps his eyes on her. His neck—and face—is an alarming shade of red. She moves her fingertips down his neck, feeling him swallow.

Someone clears their throat. David.

They both jump, but neither more so than Emma. Mortification rushes through her veins. She snatches her hand away from his face. " _Damn it_ , I'm sorry."

Regina takes a step forward. "Interesting…" she says.

But Emma hardly hears her. She's too busy looking at Hook and the more she looks at him, the more she wants to speak. "And I really like your accent. I've kinda always had a thing for British guys in leather. And I really like your eyeliner. What brand do you use? How does it stay on so long? It makes your eyes look so..." Her voice falters. "Blue… like a… a baby dolphin."

At last, she falls silent.

Face burning, she throws her gaze to the ground. All eyes are on her. She expects them to laugh at her, but they don't. She peeks up at Hook. He's frowning.

"It's bad form to play on a man's affections," is all he says. His words make her stomach swoop and her heart flutter.

"I'm telling you the… truth." Her voice falters on the last word.

That's when she realises. Though it seems impossible, there isn't any other solution. She's taken the truth potion. Regina—whether knowingly or unknowingly—has given her the wrong potion.

Without so much of a glance at the others, she runs out the room before she can say anything else.

The air is cold on her hot face, but she hardly notices; she's too busy cursing herself. She's hardly made it up the path before she hears footsteps behind her. _Please don't let it be him,_ she thinks. _Please, God above…_

" _Swan,_ " he calls.

" _Shit,_ " she hisses. Then, louder: "Go away, Hook," as she picks up the pace.

He manages to catch up to her in no time, with legs longer than hers. Soon he's falling into step with her and she can feel his coat brush her arm and it stuns her with every movement and she just wants to close her eyes and disappear. Her face is still burning from embarrassment, and she keeps her mouth closed, but she knows it's no use. _What if I tell him about the docks,_ she realises, with horror. And she's walking faster until her chest hurts, but he hardly seems to notice.

"Did you really mean what you said?" He's out of breath.

"Yes." She presses her lips together.

"You fancy me?"

"Yes."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Yes."

"Regina said you'd taken a truth potion."

She sighs. She can't pass it off as her being insane now. And she can't lie about it either. "Yes." Sticking with one word answers seems the best bet, but she can still feel the words in the back of her throat, waiting to come out.

"So it's all… true."

"Yes, that's what a truth potion does," she snaps. She stops in her tracks. He almost topples over but regains his balance and turns to her. She gives him her best glare. "It makes me tell the truth. Now _please_ go away. It's unfair of you to talk to me when I'm like… this."

He quirks an eyebrow. "What? You mean when you're being honest for a change?"

"Ouch."

"What's the matter, love? It's just the truth."

"Please don't call me love. I can't think straight when you—oh for fuck's sake. Piss off." She drags a hand over her forehead. Her skin is so hot, borderline feverish.

He raises an eyebrow, but again, it's not teasing. It's almost like… curiosity. Now that they're alone, the blush is starting to disappear from his neck. He doesn't say anything else, just tilts his head and within a matter of seconds, something else is pouring out of her mouth.

"Don't do… that."

"Do what?"

"Fold your arms like that. Look like that. Don't look at _me_ like that. Please, just stop looking at me, okay? I can't focus when you're looking at me." She digs her hands in her eyes, swivels, and cuts through the pavement. He follows after her. "Go _away._ I need to find the dwarves, remember?"

"And I'm helping you, remember?"

"You'll just be a distraction. You make my stomach flip and my heart flutter. It's distracting."

" _Bloody hell,_ " he hisses. Then, almost as if he can't believe it, "I do that to you?"

"All the time. Please don't ask me anything else."

Maybe he can come with her if he doesn't say anything; and then she won't admit anything else. How would he feel if he started spilling his darkest secrets to her?

"That's fair," he says when she tells him this.

It works… for a time. Emma is still reeling from embarrassment; she can't even look at him. It's probably a good thing because the more she looks at him, the more she wants to spill her innermost thoughts. They find the dwarves' houses, but after ringing Grumpy's doorbell, they realise that no-one's home. Emma doesn't feel _too_ bad about breaking and entering. She kicks down the door, gun pointed, but the house is dark and empty.

"I'll do downstairs. You do upstairs," she tells Hook. He nods and disappears upstairs in a flash of his coat. She watches him go, refraining more inner secrets. When he's gone, she can finally breathe easily.

She checks for evidence of spellbooks or other equipment, but she comes up short. There are no jars hiding between the pans, no wands in the cutlery drawer. She checks every nook and cranny; she pulls the sofa out, peers in between every book on the bookshelf, in the bread bin.

Nothing.

She groans, slamming the door she was snooping in, closed. Maybe Regina was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Grumpy. She hadn't _really_ thought it was, but the longer she stays, looking for the evidence, the longer she has to stay in everyone's company. And who knows what else she'll spill. Maybe she could invest in a mask? She's not sure who sells them, but perhaps she could make one with her scarf or…

"Glue my lips together," she mumbles, as she shoves a book back on the bookcase. It had looked like a spellbook, but it was really one about vegan recipes. "Who knew?"

"Knew what?"

His voice makes her jump in the dark. She whirls around. He's right behind her, so close that his coat brushes hers. She can make out the individual strands of hair on his face, and that adorable little scar on his cheek. She almost reaches out to touch it—she has to pin her hand to the side to stop herself from doing it. When she can feel her fingers twitching with longing, she shoves her hand in her pocket.

 _Behave,_ she think-hisses. What has the world come to, now that she has to tell parts of her body to stop misbehaving? The sooner she's out of this God-forsaken town, the better.

She peeks back up at Hook. His eyes are on her face, in that delicious way they always are, and she has to drop her gaze, but not before she tells him he looks good in this lighting.

"I do?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"It's because of the cheekbones." She hates every word. There's that familiar sensation of burning in her cheeks again. She can't remember blushing so much. "Your eyelashes are casting… um… shadows on your cheeks."

"I hadn't noticed."

"I don't expect you would've."

She takes a step back, right into a wall, and resists cursing. She presses her palms against the cold wall, trying to cool herself down. Blood pounds in her head. The lights fall on him _perfectly,_ revealing a long strip of white light along his neck and down his chest. She follows the path, not in control of her eyes.

"I really want to bite you."

His eyes go wide. " _Wow_."

"I mean I don't—but I do. Oh, fucking hell, fuck me." She covers her eyes with her hand but when she realises what she's just said, she drags her hand away and shoots him a panicked look.

His own eyes are still wide—wider than before. "I—uh—" he splutters. Through her embarrassment, she notes that he's blushing again, more furiously than before.

"I didn't mean—" Her voice is breathless. "That wasn't the truth potion talking, that was me. I didn't mean, I wasn't asking, I—Not that I don't _want_ to because I really, _really_ do."

That eyebrow quirks up again.

"Let me die."

And she sees a little bit of his flirty persona. He bounces in his boots, closing the distance between them. "Then how would we…"

He stops when they hear the sound of Emma's phone ringing. Relieved of an escape, she pulls it out of her pocket. "It's my dad," she breathes before she presses it to her ear. "Dad?"

"Emma!" He sounds relieved. "You're there."

"I told you so," Regina's faded voice sounds from the background. "I only said they _might_ be having sex now that Emma's being a bit more...uh, honest, not that it was a given." Emma throws a startled look at Hook, hoping he hasn't heard.

David keeps his voice light and cheery. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing. It's a dead end."

"Is… Hook there?"

"Yeah." Like David, she tries to keep her voice as light as possible. "I'll put you on speakerphone."

Hook clears his throat. "I didn't find anything either, mate. I'm beginning to think that perhaps the dwarves aren't responsible?"

"Me too," Emma says. She places a hand on her hips.

"Nonsense," Regina spits. "Of _course_ they are. It's only a matter of time before we find the books."

"So what were you—uh—up to before I called?" David says.

"We were looking for the books," Hook rushes out. "I thought we'd established this?"

But once again Emma's mouth runs away with her. "I'm pretty sure we were about to kiss."

Hook colours again. He shoots her a look and she mouths, 'I'm sorry.'

David ignores that last comment and instead says, "If you can't find anything, you should probably come back. Right now. And if you're not back within ten minutes, I'm going to personally come and find you in case you're—uh—in danger." There's a pause. "And this may seem unrelated but I'll be—uh — bringing my gun."

He hangs up.

She doesn't even look at Hook as she says, "C'mon, let's go."

She makes her way out the living room, Hook closely on her heels. They step out into the daylight and speed off down the road. And once again, she finds that she can't concentrate with him so close. Part of her just wants to push him against the nearest wall and kiss his stupid face. She keeps her mouth tightly closed as she thinks the words, breathing through her nose. She can't think of anything more mortifying than that.

"Emma, slow down, you're going to give me a stitch," he puffs out.

She doesn't slow her pace. "I thought you were supposed to be fit. At least, that's what I'd assumed after—" She stops talking abruptly, relieved that she's able to do so.

But Hook hadn't been listening. He was too busy trying to catch up with her. "Emma, love—" He grasps her arm in his hook and stops her in her tracks, pulling her gently around. "I don't understand why you're so scared to reveal yourself around me." He closes any distance between them with one step. She's so close she can count the hairs on his face. That's when she's not remembering how to breathe. "Not when I've made my feelings for you perfectly clear." His words are soft, a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

 _Please,_ she thinks. _I don't want to do this. Not now. Not ever._

" _You_ haven't; other people have." Accusing works. "Like Zelena, who cursed your lips. She understood more than I did."

"Admitting one's feelings is—" He drops his eyes, scratching the back of his neck. "Difficult at the best of times. We don't all have truth serums to do it." He manages to smile, one she doesn't return.

"Yeah, well."

"I would have been open if I thought it would make a shred of difference. If I thought you weren't so indifferent to me."

She tilts her head, her worries forgotten in a moment of confusion and sadness. "You really thought I was indifferent?"

He nods. "Can you blame me?"

No, she can't. She has spent every waking moment pushing him away since she returned from New York. Sure, they've been defeating Zelena together and he's looked after Henry a few times, but when it's come to _her_ feelings, her feelings for him… She remembers her words to Zelena. _Maybe try enchanting the lips of someone I'll actually kiss._

"I couldn't—I can't—" She swallows, trying to keep the words at bay. But she can feel them again. "I—"

He strokes her face, leaving a burning trail in his path. "Don't worry, love," he murmurs. "You don't have to tell me. You were right; it's unfair of me to ask questions when you don't have any control. I shall refrain until you're back to your old self." He takes a step back, his eyes still on her.

 _Did you know you talk with your eyes?_

He huffs a laugh. "Old habits."

" _Shit,_ " she hisses. She hadn't realised she'd said it out loud.

"Come on. We best get back."

She _should_ feel relieved as she watches him walk off. Maybe she would if she didn't feel the words, in her chest, bubbling up to her throat. She clamps her hands over her mouth, but she feels like she can't _breathe._ She _needs_ to get those words out before they choke her, and they _are_ choking her.

It's like she's not in control of her own feet as she rushes up to him.

"I _do_ have feelings for you. I've always had feelings for you, even before you came to get me in New York. I told you that when we kissed, it was just a kiss but I was lying. I told myself that too, thinking it would stop whatever I was feeling for you, but it just made it stronger and—Shit." She clamps her gloves hands over her mouth again but it's almost impossible to keep her hands there. They've stopped again, Hook's eyes watching her.

"Emma—" His voice is slightly breathless.

She removes her hands to draw in her breath, but words are tumbling out again. "Yesterday you told me you didn't understand why I was being so distant with my parents. With… you."

"Aye. What of it?" His voice is still breathless, eyes wide and alarmed.

"It's because—" _Don't say it._ "It's—" _Don't you dare say it._ "It's because of you. It's because I can't let myself _feel_ —oh my god, why am I saying this. I need to leave."

"I thought we were leaving?"

"No. Storybrooke. I need to leave and I can't. I—" Her voice shakes with every word. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing herself not to cry, but she can feel the burning behind her lids. _Please don't let me cry in front of him._

"Emma…" His voice is gentle. He moves towards her but she steps back.

"You're the only thing that's stopping me from leaving."

She removes her hands from her eyes and they stare at each other for a few seconds, eyes on each other. The weight of her words lies between them. A breeze stirs the air around them, waking them from their trance.

"Why?"

"Because part of me knows that if I stopped running maybe I could have a home with… you."

His voice is barely a whisper. "What?"

Her heart pounds in her chest and her stomach flips uneasily. It's worse than when she accidentally let slip how attractive he was, or when she touched his face in front of everyone. It's realer. The stakes are higher. It's something she would never admit to herself, not in even the darkest corners of her mind.

"I have to go."

She turns but he grabs her arm again, this time with his hand. She looks up into his face to find his eyes almost agonised.

"You can't just… tell me that and leave. Emma—"

She rips her arm from his grasp. "This isn't fair of you. I'm not in my right mind at the moment."

"You thoughts seem to be crystal clear from where I'm standing."

"I am asking you. _Please._ Let me go."

He releases her arm. When she begins off down the path again, he doesn't follow.

* * *

By the time Emma returns to Regina's house, there's a potion waiting for her on the table in front of David, who stirs it. It's a deep purple colour, steaming and bubbling away. There's that same mown-grass smell coming from it but this time, it's not as unpleasant.

"I said _counterclockwise, David,_ " Regina scolds from her spot at her desk. She stands above a pile of books, and she seems to be marking something off in a notebook, mumbling to herself.

"Another truth potion?" Emma asks. "It smells awful."

Regina glances up from behind her desk, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It does, but it'll be good for you." She swipes the tumbler from the desk, ignoring David's protests of "Hey!" and passes it over to Emma. "It's an antidote. As soon as I'd realised what happened, I whipped it up."

"Let's hope this isn't a mix-up either," Emma says. She intends it to be teasing but Regina looks like she's just been slapped in the face. "I hope I don't sprout wings or something."

"I assure you, no mistakes have been made."

"Yeah," David says. "Now you can stop being so cruelly honest."

"I told you, it was the angle."

 _Here we go again,_ she thinks as she eyes the liquid. She holds her nose and downs it in one go. When she's done, she slams the tumbler back down on the desk, trying to stop making a face.

"Did it work?" David asks.

"Let's see." A slow, cunning smile breaks out on Regina's face. "What do you think of Hook's ass?"

Emma feels the blush rise to her cheeks at the question, but she shrugs. "Hook's ass? How would I know?" Relief floods through her before she's even finished the sentence.

"It worked."

"Unless… she was just telling the truth?" David tries.

Regina gives him a look. Then she proceeds to swipe the tumbler from the desk. "Now that's sorted out, I'm going to get back to work on finding Grumpy. I plan to give him the _actual_ truth serum this time, and then I'll have him." That slow smile creeps back across her face. "If you'll excuse me." And she leaves the room in one flourish.

As soon as she's gone, David turns to Emma. "Do you really have a thing for Hook?"

Emma groans before throwing her hair over her shoulder and exiting the room too.

* * *

As it turns out, Regina doesn't need to give Grumpy a truth serum, not before the real culprit steps forward and admits their part in it. The story circles around Storybrooke in a matter of hours, but Emma hears it straight from the horse's mouth: Henry's.

"I know I shouldn't have done it," he says as he hands Regina's spell book back to her, looking down at the floor. His face is red with embarrassment and shame and, despite her anger, Emma feels herself softening. "I didn't mean for anyone to suffer for it. I just thought—I just—"

"Thought what?" Regina asks. She, too, is wearing her angry mom expression, but Emma can see the cracks; the same cracks she struggles to hide.

"I don't wanna leave, okay?" He looks directly at Emma. "This is our _home,_ mom, okay? These are our family. I can't leave them. I thought that maybe, if I stole the books, it would mean we could stay longer. You'd try to find the person responsible and you'd realise how much you love it here."

"Kid…" she begins. _A whole curse couldn't make me realise that._ But before she can gently explain this, Regina shoots her a sharp look.

"You're _still_ leaving? And taking Henry with you?"

Emma shrugs, folding her arms, unable to meet her eyes.

Regina's voice lowers to a furious whisper. "How could you?"

"Our life, it was good." She shrugs again, hoping to defuse some of the tension, but the air thickens.

Regina laughs, but it's humourless. "It was a _lie._ "

"We need some normalcy."

"You mean _you. You_ need to feel normal, even though you're anything but. _You_ need to run away from your first real family because _you_ don't give a damn about anyone else."

"Don't you _dare—_ "

"Don't tell me what I dare not do, Emma. You lost the right when you decided to take my son from me." And without another glance in her direction, Regina strides out of the room, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

Emma looks over at Henry, her expression soft, and opens her mouth to speak.

"Don't, mom. She's right," he says before he follows her out the room.

And Emma is left entirely alone.

* * *

Emma had tried to talk to Henry, but he'd ignored her the whole afternoon. She thought perhaps she could talk to him over hot cocoa and cake, but she soon found out that talking in the loft was out of the question; Henry had told her parents' _exactly_ what she was planning. She hadn't allowed herself to feel anything at their expressions of horror, not when she's already been through it before. She remembered a similar moment a few weeks ago, just after defeating Zelena, when they'd been in Granny's diner and they'd found out what she was planning to do.

"We thought you'd come to your senses," Mary Margaret had hissed out, bouncing a crying Neal aggressively in her arms.

David had remained mostly silent throughout the whole conversation, bar the head-shaking and haunted looks thrown in her direction.

It had made her gut twist, but it was for the best. It had to be.

Which is why now she sits on the park bench, like she had done after the first conversation, looking out into the lake. It's not quite frozen over, but the lilypads are dusted with frost. She exhales long and slow, trying to calm the fluttering in her heart and the coldness seeping through her bones, that has nothing to do with the weather.

It's a mess. It's all a mess.

She closes her eyes and allows a few hot tears to seep down her cheek.

She doesn't want to feel like this any more. She doesn't want to feel like she can't find home until she runs, until she misses it. She doesn't want to sacrifice her own happiness for Henry's. And she wouldn't be, if she didn't know it was the best thing for him. But it is.

"Emma?"

Emma's eyes snap open. She looks up to see Hook stood over her, watching her with a frown. _Great,_ she thinks. _That's all I need._ She remembers all that she said to him with a thump of the heart. There's a humiliation deep in her bones that makes her want to jump up and run.

But she doesn't. Instead, she wipes the few tears away and offers him a small, empty smile. "What do you want?"

"I thought we could perhaps talk."

"About what?"

He just looks at her. "You're joking, right?"

Emma sighs, looking away from him, down at her gloved hands. She longs to tell him to _go away_ but she doesn't have the confidence that the truth serum had given her. So she just sits there while he takes the space next to her, his coat brushing hers again, stunning her. She doesn't say anything, she just continues to look down at her hands and tries to breathe easily. Breathing always comes harder when he's around. She wasn't lying when she said she struggles to think straight.

She watches out the corner of her eyes as he leans forward, clasping his hand and hook in front of him.

There's a moment of silence.

And then:

"You have feelings for me." It isn't a question. "Forgive me, but I'm having a hard time processing it. For all my talk of winning your heart, I'm not sure I believed that I ever would."

She remembers that day; the day he told her he'd win her heart. And that day he told her he was glad her heart was broken. _If it's broken, it means it still works._ How wrong he was. Her heart is more broken than ever, and she's the most confused she's ever been.

"Look, I really, _really_ don't want to do this now."

"Then when do you want to do it, Emma?" To her surprise, his voice is sharp. He's looking—no, _glaring_ —at her, his eyes flashing. "Because, if you had your way, we'd never have this talk."

"Maybe that's for the best." She doesn't intend her voice to be so small.

"Why? Because you still intend to leave? Because it'll make leaving easier for you?" His eyes are still flashing. It makes her want to flinch away from him, but she keeps her gaze on him, not wanting to appear weak.

"I can't do this."

She stands, but he stands with her. She walks, but he walks with her.

"Why can't you just be honest with yourself for once? You really intend to leave all of this? Your family? Me?"

She whirls around, stopping him in his tracks. "There is no _you_ where I'm concerned. There is no _we,_ and there can't be an _us_ , so _please_ just leave me alone."

He takes her shoulders in his hand and his hook. "I don't believe that for one second, not after yesterday. You have all these reasons to stay, and yet you don't take any of them."

"I _can't._ "

Why can't he just understand? Why can't _anyone_ understand. She struggles to find breath, feeling that warmth behind her eyes again.

"Please don't leave," he says. He catches a tear with his fingertip. "You know I feel as you do. If you have any doubts about that, I can dispel those right now. Watch me." He leans in but she catches his face in her hands.

"No, Killian—"

He tries to kiss her again but she pushes him back, as softly as she can. It takes everything in her. Every part of her aches to be close to him. Her heart is fluttering madly in her chest, a blush rising to her cheeks. But she can't kiss him; she _can't._ She doesn't need another reason to stay.

They stare at each other. He's so close, she can feel his breath on her cheek, warm in the cold air.

A _woosh_ makes them jump.

"What the bloody _hell_ was that?"

Emma's about to tell him that she doesn't know, when she catches the sight of something shooting into the sky, like a vivid green skyscraper. Her thoughts catch up with her eyes a second later.

"Zelena's time portal," she whispers. "What the hell?" She thought they'd closed that down the first time and now it was back?

She steps out of Hook's arms and immediately starts running after it, boots thudding on the pavement as she runs. He's right beside her, as he always is, and despite the fact that she'll be leaving soon, despite how she's hurt him, she knows that he'll always be beside her to face anything.

That's when she starts to feel it. The spark of hope.


End file.
